The next morning, my little "stunt" had hit the news. Everyone in the storage room was... dead? I hadn't meant for this to happen! Or maybe I had, but I was unaware of the regret that would tag along like a dog on a leash that was permanently tied to my hand.

I am a killer.

I killed six souls. I couldn't even squash a fly, but six people. How could I ever live with myself knowing I took away six people's lives. No one ever found out who killed them.

As an adult, I still live with regret, but I have a small, sickening feeling of triumph.

Until one day, after I retired from my teaching job. I was in my home alone, sitting in my chair by the window reading, when I heard a pounding on my door.

Eyes still glazed from reading, I got up wearily and opened the door.

A big, golden badge took up my view.

"Ma'am," the police officer said. "I'd like to have a word with a Margret Mayer."

My heart stopped, and my stomach flew up into my frail throat. "I am she."

"Well, we got a call," he said. They know I did it. "and they said that they are a neighbor of yours. You parked in their driveway, and they tried reaching you but you were unavailable at the time."

I exhaled silently, relief rolling down my weak shoulder blades like waves. "Oh yes, I'll get my car," I answered, and picked up my cane and slowly made my way down the porch stairs.

After that small fiasco, I got settled back down. No more than two hours later, I heard another violent pound on my door. Full, of confidence and assurance, I picked up my cane and hobbled to the door. Yet another big yellow badge flooded my view.

"Margret Mayer?" He asked.

"I am she," I answered with a big smile.

"We just solved a cold case from about sixty years ago. You're going to have to come with me."

"What for?"

"We found a DNA sample on some evidence that was not checked due to foolishness and laziness. Did you go to Westford High?"

"Yes."

"You're the number one suspect of the Wesford High burning massacre."